“Directly below us,” said Joachim, pointing downward, “hidden by those trees, is the hermitage, built at the source of the river. There is a direct path down-or I should rather say steps cut into the cliff-just a little farther along, but the road itself takes two more miles to get down to the valley floor.” Off to our left, at a spot where the cliffs were not quite so steep, I could see the white line of the road winding its way sharply down into the valley, appearing and disappearing among the beeches.

Joachim shook his horse’s reins and started along the road. I followed after one more look down. I could have flown down myself easily enough, but I would not want to try it carrying the mare.

We had gone less than a hundred yards when Joachim stopped again, pulling up the reins so hard that his normally gentle bay half reared and gave a protesting whinny. Wondering if it might be the mysterious horned rabbit, I hurried my horse to join him, then stared with equal surprise.

Before us was a little wooden booth. No one was inside, but a large brightly-colored sign proclaimed, “See the Holy Toe! Five pennies on foot, fifteen pennies in the basket.”

I was trying to work out what this could mean, if perhaps whoever had painted the sign was offering us a chance to see the holy toe on someone else’s foot, and why a toe in a basket should be more valuable, when there was movement under a nearby tree. A young man in a feathered cap stood up and came out from the shadows.

“Greetings, my fine gentlemen!” he said in the hearty tones of someone manning a booth at a fair. “Are you here to see the Holy Toe of Saint Eusebius the Cranky? I’m afraid we don’t have the basket ready quite yet, but if you want to go down on foot it’s not a bad climb-and cheaper, too!”

Joachim dismounted and looked sternly at him. “So you’re charging people just for the privilege of climbing down the cliff to the Holy Grove?”